Midnight Requiem
by Vestige of Humility
Summary: Within the walls of madness he built himself, Elsword finds himself helplessly tyrannized by the dark manifestation of his own lamentation. Now a bloodstained murderer, his only means of liberty is the light and purity radiating from the girl whom he finds himself inevitably pursuing. Come forth and watch with your own eyes, the unsung tale of misguided souls.
1. Illness

**A/N: Hey there! Nagivator here, bringing you my first fanfic for this account. I _did_ have an account a few years ago for a number of games, with Elsword thrown into the bundle. I found story writing to be impossible because of my issue with procrastinating at any given moment; now with that being said, I am probably watching some Youtube videos while I'm typing this up or roaming around Elsword while stalking glamorously dressed people.**

 **Anywho, let's get on with the fanfic! Just a small introduction to make sure I don't completely forget this little idea...**

 **So I attempted to add a bit of religion (ONLY A TINY BIT OKAY?!) to spice things up a little bit. I tried my best to research everything, but research can only take you so far, amirite. Which meant I got a bit lazy with it.**

 **If I get anything wrong, please don't kill me. Allow me to apologize beforehand to those of you who are religious and are offended by my idiocy!**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Elsword and its characters; they all belong to KoG! I do not own the cover picture either!**

* * *

 **Chapter 1 - Illness**

* * *

 _Walk on, wandering souls._

Blood. Corpses. The gaping hollows one would call a 'mouth'. They were littered around carelessly, abandoned, shredded to pieces. The darkness, so suffocating, the greatest nemesis of an unsuspecting target. What a brutal scene. It hung in the air; the fresh scent of scarlet liquid, spewing out in chaotic arcs from warm bodies before settling ominously on all that it smites. _shhhnkk_

 _For your respite we pray._

There it was, the unmistakably cruel sound of meat being skewered mercilessly, blood dousing all in its wake, cries of terror cut short in a split second. It turned deathly silent, save for the quiet mumbling of a long forgotten song.

 _Let our humble song clear your hearts of dismay._

Amongst it all, a tall malignant being, a mere teen slouching over with his eyes fixated blankly on his feet as his lips moved to form the words of a song. In his hands, he brandished a dual weapon; one, a wicked blade sharpened for the sole purpose to bring about destruction, its white edges leering menacingly as scarlet tears ran along its surface, the other a great sword of many tales, its rough surface embellished with innumerable scars of countless bouts. His hair, a cluster of burning fury spiking in a messy fashion stained by an ugly jet black speckle on the left side of his head.

 _..._

After what seemed like an eternity of standing in solemn thought, the boy lifted his head skyward, eyes now closed and eyebrows knitted pensively as he lowered the two sharp pieces of metal and emptied his chest of unseen contents, a breath he did not realize he had held in. It was only at that moment did he feel the wet pellets of something cold striking and prodding harmlessly at his armor.

"Oh," The boy slowly revealed his crimson orbs, lifeless, empty. "It's raining."

The rain doused his lean figure in a gentle embrace. It eased the stubborn throbbing of his temples and the dull aches in his muscles. The moonless sky served as a great disguise for this night of slaughter, the bodies left graveless and in their tarnished states.

He favored the darkness. The sun was just too bright, too cheerful. The boy impaled his blade into the ground, the elegant curve of the scabbard inviting crystal droplets to join the blood resting on its surface. O, how this melancholic downpour toiled to rouse his wretched memories.

"Hmm...?"

There he stood, staring into the clouded skies then at the violent reality before him, a humorless chuckle escaping his lips as one droplet of this blasted rain tasted rather... salty.

 _Tsk._

"You seem happy, don't you," The boy clutched a gloved hand to his face, pain sharpening his features. "...Conwell?"

* * *

Coughs rattled the small girl, the muffled sounds rippling through the air in ear-splitting intervals. Her eyes moistened, threatening to spill tears down her cheeks as she felt jolts of pain agitate her body. Lavender tresses tumbled in violent sways as her body rocked viciously from the internal assault, shadowing her face in long wisps of hair.

The coughs subsided to feeble wheezes, until absolute silence fell upon the vacant room. The girl brushed away tenacious strands of her lilac locks, wiped away the final traces of dampness under her eyes and patted down her scrunched up blanket.

She folded her fingers under the tome that she had sent tumbling off the side of the bed during her coughing episode, and carefully eased the crinkled pages into a flatter surface. It proved challenging, for once the damage was done, the ugly crease will never be reversed to its original state. The girl closed the ancient book, and gingerly ran a finger over the raised surfaces of the weathered cover; an image of a burning flame, a solitary snowflake, the waves of the wind and a bolt of lightning. She patiently traced the edges of them, training the images into her mind as she often did during her pastimes throughout her fleeting childhood.

A lone cough escaped her lips, then a hushed sigh. She averted her gaze to the window outside, the sound of rain striking the glass and splashing into accumulated puddles reverberating in her ears.

Settling the book on her linen lined lap, the girl tipped her head backwards, resting against the wall behind her. She stared absentmindedly at her hands, at the threads of fate written along them her mother once called 'palm lines', with a blend of insipidity and contemplativeness etched onto her gentle features. Rested on the wall next to the side of her bed, a staff that stretched from her head to past her waist, engraved upon it a holy cross. Honey-gold and baby pink ornaments adorned the structure at the tip of the staff, framing the intricately crafted wings that hung from both sides. Indeed, it is a staff fit for a young lady of her caliber, for its anatomy served to efficiently channel the energy borrowed from the land to harness the four elements of nature at its optimum level.

A smile danced on her pale lips as she remember fond memories of fellow magicians practicing the same as she. Perhaps it was time for her to say her prayers to them at the cemetery. Although...

She could barely remember their faces.

Again she sighed, disgruntled. No, she had more important matters to attend to; tomorrow she must once again offer her prayers in favor of those who were still alive and breathing.

She just simply had no time for the dead.

* * *

Two soft, carefully measured knocks resonated from the door.

" _Aisha? Are you ready?_ " A voice called, laced with a woman's matured timbre.

Aisha stifled a sigh and fastened the magenta bow settled on her chest. She pulled on her brown gloves and donned a pure white robe lined with fuchsia ribbons and a feathery motif along the edges of the billowing sleeves and the seams across the bottom of the robe.

Today was just another day. She would perform her weekly ritual of climbing the mountain, isolated from her populated hometown, and offer her prayers to the lone ash tree situated at the summit, a duty she had been burdened with for as long as she could construct memories. Aisha did not dwell on it, though.

 _"You are special, my dear. The essence of your being has always allowed the breath of the land to favor you for it is stronger than most if not all, and thus, you hold a greater influence on the energy that flows consistently through the earth; the energy of life."_

Those words would always echo somewhere at the back of her mind. A smile flickered on her lips.

She patted down her indigo pleated skirt and, reaching for her staff, felt a cough bubble up in her throat as the air was almost knocked out of her. She retracted her hand and hacked into her gloves, her legs buckling under her. The majestic door hurtled open as a haze of forest green and ebony black darted towards her. A delicate, warm hand glided over the back of her quivering, hunched body comfortably as the coughs tortured the small girl.

The purplenette heaved, each breath sending a thousand agonizing pinches to her torrid throat.

"M-my... staff..." Aisha croaked, as she searched for it through watery eyes. She felt the familiar handle of an object press into the palm of her hand.

"Here." The woman breathed, balancing the staff in Aisha's hand and patting her affectionately. She pressed her lips into a thin line, worried for the girl's deteriorating health. She instinctively ran a hand over the hilt of her blade, fiddling with it as unease scintillated across her emerald green orbs.

"Thank... y-you Rena." She gripped onto her staff and propped herself up. The purplenette staggered uncontrollably, the world seeming to tumble in a torrent of white and chartreuse. She furrowed her brows in concentration and sealed her eyes tightly shut, regaining her equanimity. She puffed out a lengthy sigh as her features relaxed, a bead of sweat streaming down her forehead.

"I'm afraid we'll have to take our leave soon... the sun is about to set," The woman brooded, examining the younger girl. "Are you able to walk?"

"Of course," She asserted. "Of course I can walk."

* * *

 **A/N: And there you have it! I've had a lot of free time handed to me now that it's summer, so it's back to a bit of writing for me! That little snippet of a song at the beginning was actually from Final Fantasy Type-0. Man did that game change me... The theme song was also very fitting for the theme here, too! So rights go to the person who wrote down the translations~**

 **Till next time, adieu~**


	2. From Behind the Sky

**Just gonna chip in real quick; there was a mishap with the tree that was mentioned in the first chapter! Rather than a 'fig' tree it was meant to be an 'ash' tree! It has been changed now~**

 **Also... sorry if the quality has dipped down a scale from the first chumpster. I'm lacking in sleep so proof-reading will be... *barfs* and my procrastination is... yeah. o.o)b**

* * *

 **Chapter 2 - From Behind the Sky**

* * *

The trek through the forest and the ascending journey to the summit of the mountain had always been laborious. While little Aisha was far from lazy, she certainly did not possess a body suitable for arduous physical activity. Guiding the way was her capable and loyal guardian, Rena; a woman the young girl had placed her absolute trust in and shared her ideals with. The pair trudged along the grassy grounds of the forest in tranquil silence, disregarding the sounds of the young Priestess' _tip tapping_ shoes, the elf's _clicking_ heels and the occasional crunches of a twig being snapped. Overhead were vines of wisteria lining the branches of maple leaves, and through the tiniest of gaps escaped dusty particles of sunlight, its petite footsteps frequently dancing on the purplenette's ivory skin as she watched the colors of golden brown and lilac weave together in harmony. The leaves hummed the susurration of nature's lullaby alongside the gentle breeze that welcomed the duo's presence, tousling their locks of hair playfully.

A small smile graced her cherry tinged lips as she inhaled deeply the crisp Autumn air. The fresh air never did fail to calm her spirit.

Aisha dipped her head back down to find Rena had rested her hand lightly on the jeweled tip of her blade, a casual habit she had developed ever since obtaining the lethal weapon. The sharp steel gleamed and ricocheted off the cascading showers of beaming sunlight. Rena herself remained silent as she marched along; for years now Aisha had known the woman to be one of very few words. Upon years of close inspection, she had found that Rena had irrefutably trained and shaped into the vigilant elf she is; her strides were carefully calculated and well-distributed, and she would always flourish her bow in hand with her blade Erendil strapped to her side, keen to be whipped out and utilized while she diligently surveyed her surroundings. A notion crossed her mind bitterly; this elf was - albeit unfortunately - the perfect exemplification of a battle-hardened and perspicacious warrior who had faced death and regret an infinite amount of times, but still remained irrepressible.

While they rarely spoke of what little family Rena had, Aisha was not so ignorant to the fact that the passing of the elf's most dearest had passed away on this date. No grave was built for the man for he was not remembered as a hero by many.

As she walked along drowning herself in intense rumination, Aisha felt her face smack against a cushion of thick, silky lime hair and almost dropped her precious staff from the sudden collision.

"Wha-" The purplenette began. Rena peered over her feathered shoulder pad, her emerald eyes swimming with curiosity. Aisha moved her head to spy the elevated bump of the ground, and muttered a simple, "Oh."

* * *

" **Is... that so...** " A humble voice drawled thoughtfully, rolling smoothly and lightly through the air. The atmosphere was tense, the room inked with an endless black, save for the gentle shower of light aloft. The womanly figure stationed within that light folded her legs, two snow-white mystical tails folding itself briskly underneath her as she seated herself on them. The remaining seven tails encircled her, the fluffy tips swaying seductively and framing her matured curves enticingly. She radiated off an almost sibylline spirit within the frail waterfall of light. Running a clawed hand through her velvety silver locks, the woman crossed her arms over the cerise obi wrapped around her waist, accentuating her slender physique. Striking ruby eyes blossomed with a blush of amber that rimmed the nucleus of her orbs and glinted with a thousand years of untold and forgotten tales alike. And lastly her two most perceptible features; her strange ability to levitate off the ground effortlessly and the fact that a total of nine pristine tails gyrated from her backside. Truly a being worthy to be deemed a powerful 'deity'. Her exquisite lips curled into a percipient smile, the tiniest trace of a pearly fang protruding from the corner of her lip. " **Raise your head, child.** "

A second figure raised its head as instructed, two violet braids spilling over its shoulders. Its slim stature revealed it to be a young female. A drawn out moment of ghastly silence hovered over them as their eyes met, before the small girl compressed her eyes shut, rolling her head downwards.

"May I... enquire you of something?" The girl droned timidly. The deity nodded firmly, her optics lighting up in pure curiosity. Nervously, the human cleared her throat and rolled her tongue over her lips, searching for her resolve. "Is it possible... to revive someone from the dead? I-I'm certain that you have m-met many who have asked the same, but a deity as powerful as you, perhaps... just maybe... you... have that ability?"

The deity's feline ears perked up as she tightened her arms around her waist and laughter flowed from her lips melodiously, her bountiful bosom stirring in an up and down motion from the outburst. She, however, made no move to stifle her hysterics. As it slowly died away, the nine-tailed woman prodded at her bottom lip with a finger thoughtfully, her eyes steering to the depths of the vacant room.

" **What truly peculiar beings you humans are. The dead, eh...? I wonder how many times I've been asked that. Aah, please pardon my insolence. Well, that is certainly a topic humans appear to pour their fondness upon no matter how many millenniums fly by. I suppose... it is because you humans cling desperately to life, whether it is your own or another's. Sadly, I must abide by the rules, little one.** "

Another suffocating pause. The human shuffled awkwardly as disappointment blossomed on her features, the silence and darkness drowning her.

" **'Tis simply a sinful and impossible feat.** " She hummed, her lips unfurling itself. **"The soul cannot return, even if the body is reanimated. For all this time, I have witnessed many who, despite my warnings, have toiled tirelessly to disentangle the infliction of one's passing. Even now... They cling to any beacon of hope they can grasp with their tiny paws, simply an inevitability. But, of course, being the bizarre creatures that you are...**

 **"There are... a select few who _become_ that beacon of hope."** The deity beamed.

* * *

The Priestess reached towards the elf's extended hand, and pulled herself up with a small degree of fatigue. They maneuvered at a steady pace and stopped for sustenance when a handful of coughs would disturb the purplenette on the rare occasion, or when they found the frequent furry forest dweller and gave chase to feed a certain Priestess' curiosity.

The sky above has been lenient this day, the sun had not set as soon as Rena had interpreted. The dusty spotlights had transferred from a warm gold to a solemn dull vermilion. The birds had ceased their singsong feuds and in their stead the dancing of leaves against the strong winds.

To the elf, however, it all served to darken the world around her. Everything had long lost their fun and vibrant splashes of colors. All she had known was the color of red; the color of the very blood that sustains her.

Rena allowed sentimental thoughts to raid her mind. She had never knew death to be so painfully sorrowful until that day when he... left for a better place, to put it simply. She released a quiet _tsk_ at the agonizing reminder. It was a small fraction of her life. A strangely short moment. But it was enough to engrave itself deeply into her mind, her soul, so bottomless that it would replay and replay and replay again, that one little scenario. Who knew _one single promise_ could be splintered, fractured, _disintegrated_ in a matter of seconds? Or was it minutes? Perhaps an hour. Maybe even longer than that... Whatever. Death lasts for an eternity. What care should she have for how long she had waited for his life to just... ebb away in her arms? Rena sighed and lightly pinched her cheeks. Just wake the hell up.

It was then that she had realized that she could not feel Aisha's presence behind her.

Whirling around on her heeled boots, Rena flew a hand to the hilt of her Erendil and waned into a crouched position, her eyes steeled adroitly. Where did she wander off to this time?

A rustle occurred to the left.

With sharpened instincts, the elf drew forth her blade at lightning speed and hacked away half the mulberry bush with a single jerk of her wrist. Maple leaves and lime green tresses were left flying in the air in her wake. A delicate voice yelped in surprise, and Rena sighed heavily in return, sheathing her weapon. She brandished her unoccupied hand on her hip.

"Please don't go running off like that." She uttered sullenly. Aisha whispered a low 'sorry' before extending a large bundle of... red carnations? The elf inclined her head to the side, an eyebrow brimming quizzically. The shorter girl shuffled her heels nervously, deigning her to accept the pile.

"...For your husband." The purplenette whined anxiously, her lower lip puckering. "In the language of flowers... red carnations express true love so... take them!"

Rena deadpanned spontaneously, her mouth gaping open at the thought given, till her features softened and a tiny grin lit her paled lips and emerald orbs.

 _He loved carnations..._

She set down her bow and gingerly plucked the benevolent gift from Aisha's fingers, gazed deeply into them with dewy eyes before she gently withdrew them into her leather satchel.

"Thank you." She whispered.

* * *

 _Unnamed corpses, deserted limbs, shrill cries of orders to retreat, spillage of blood, barrages of arrows and sorrowful rain, an army of armored boots and hooves thundering and bounding, blood screams of torture, blood, blood, scarlet liquid, the blood, so much blood. The blood won't stop. Why won't it stop?_

 _She gritted her teeth miserably, vexed as she applied pressure to the calamitous gash screaming from the left shoulder to the midriff. Her lungs hollered agonizingly for air, her palpitating heart souring sky high as the raging tears streamed down her dirt-lined cheeks in her futile attempt to save this one life that truly mattered to her, this one life that she cherished more than her own._

 _The rain... since when did it taste of something?_

 _Rena clenched her eyes shut, her body quivering and curling up in exhaustion and incredulity. Her head rocked from side to side, refusing this reality, questioned it._

 _"Please, please, please... oh please..." She broke into a fit of inaudible sobs, her hands shriveling into balled fists, knuckles burning a bright white with nails digging into her palms. "This... this is... How...?"_

 _The man hissed and wheezed in his boundless world of excruciating pain. The rain splashed onto the pair's battered bodies mercilessly, chiding at them childishly._

 _The blood... Why won't it stop?_

 _Since when did I fear the flowing of blood? Maybe just for this person..._

 _From far away, the sounds of carnage could still be heard resonating through the air. A brutal, one-sided slaughter as men crawled with their legless bodies to a safe haven, only to receive a grimy foot to the head that applied a downward force, drowning the soldier in the wet mud. Roars of despair of fellow soldiers rebounded through the air - a sense of grief they had never known. The sounds, they filled her ears as companions, blood brothers, life-long friends lay motionless in fatigued arms, their features haunted by the one thing they had feared and regretted facing; death. She could not remember a night where everyone slept with absolute bliss. During many sleepless nights of being shaken with terror, brothers and sisters alike held each other's hands, felt the warmth and touch of another human being to reassure themselves and each other that death had not yet knocked. That tomorrow has still to come._

 _And then they would vow, with shaken voices, that they would live to see each other again, to see their families._

 _So much for that._

 _Enemy troops had begun to file back to their base as reinforcements flooded the rain-accented fields._

 _She opened her eyes slowly to the reality before her, jade green swimming into distant amber orbs. A small gasp left her lips._

 _"Where..." He wrestled muzzled memories in his head as he searched for his own companion._

 _"I'm here! Don't worry, you're safe now..." The elf removed one hand from the blood-soaked rag and hurriedly leaned over to stroke the man's bronzed cheek comfortingly. "I'm here..."_

 _"You're... unhurt?" She nodded vehemently, and the smile Rena had grown to adore warmed his face. She felt a smile of her own infect her lips. "Good... Good..."_

 _"Help will come soon. Hang in there Raven... Please... Don't die..." She pleaded, the smile quickly dying. "Don't leave me all alone..."_

 _A jumble of wheezes, coughs and chuckles was knocked out of the raven-haired man. "I won't, silly... We made a vow... no?"_

 _The blood... Why won't it stop?!_

 _Rena choked on her voice, and so simply nodded again. She brushed her thumb gently over that snowy-white patch of hair that she found oh so adorable._

 _"And then..." He took a deep and jagged breath, his eyes fluttering shut in concentration. "And then... we promised to... protect each other, too."_

 _And again, she nodded. Indeed, they did promise, they sealed it on that day. And she broke that promise._

 _He continued on, despite being unable to see or hear her response. "Oh... And live in that cottage... you've always admired..."_

 _Yes. A cottage just near to the seaside, where they would take frequent walks together. She had only mentioned the cottage once before._

 _She simply nodded her head, time and time again and again and again and again and again, her lips tightened into a bold line. The rain began to drown out the sounds of his voice, the footsteps._

 _Nod, and nod again. You have no need to cry anymore. You might have broken your end of the promise Rena, but remember..._

 _Raven never lies... Ever..._

 _"Tell that... -eaded bastard... said sorry... -eaving him..." Again, she nodded._ _What was she nodding about? What did he just say? Everything was just a blur._

 _How long did she sit there, stroking his cheek? Did the reinforcements arrive to heal Raven? Surely, they must have. Surely. Surely._

 _The muscles of his face had long stopped to move as he fell into the inescapable darkness._

 _The blood... Why did it stop?_

* * *

She brushed thin amethyst threads of hair behind her ear when the first surge of cold wind almost sent her plummeting back down the mountain as it often did at these times. Aisha pressed on as the gargantuan ash tree came into sight, its shadowed outline spreading its sumptuous branches yearningly towards the reticent heavens. With Rena waiting further down the hill to dwell on her sorrows, Aisha decided it best for her to do this with haste. With another living being beside her, she never felt at peace during these rituals, and thus requested for Rena to stand guard further away, and would always receive a reluctant frown from the elf to have to abide by her request.

It's time.

She plodded her eyelids into a line of dark luxurious lashes as she strolled towards the puissant presence exuding from the wizened tree. The wind called to her once again, this time gentler and more welcoming. It wrapped around her body in a tight blanket, pushing and pulling her forwards in an invisible torrent of light-hearted joy. Next came a tide of serenity that flooded her entire being, sending pleasant oscillations through her arms and to the staff in her grasp. Her steps became lighter and airy, as though she were treading on water. Her ears rung with the sound a thousand heartbeats and melodies of the ash tree.

The beckoning of the wind. Aisha stopped abruptly, and extended an arm forward, her gloved fingers brushing against the rough surface of the tree. Peeping through her eyelids, she found herself face to face with the much too familiar ash tree. The leaves above whispered and rustled as the breeze continued to advance. Hastily, the purplenette drew in a deep breath and pressed her staff onto the trunk. A startling viridiscent light protruded from her palms, circumferenced the entire length of her staff and surrounded her body in a brilliant, silver-green aura.

She took one stride backwards, clasped her hands together on the staff; an imitation of a prayer. The breeze transformed into untamed gusts, whipping at her fragile stature dourly as her face became knitted in concentration.

Her lips parted, and a holy incantation emitted from vocal cords in a mesh of incoherent locutions.

 _Take into thy arms_

 _Our children's prayers_

 _For in Man's heart_

 _The ember of spite does stay-_

 _So for the lives of not Man_

 _But of thy untainted creations thou calls children_

 _Let thy sigh bless those souls with life and hope_

 _For ever and hereafter-_

 _For in their time of need_

 _None other will offer the same as thy holy succour._

The virescent brilliance dispersed into a dazzling halo, its intensity slicing the rosy clouds overhead and blooming into miniature globes of obscured nature and sowing its roots upon the land, upon the residents that roam it. The tree flourished its towering branches, the grass and other plant life seemed to sound far more crisp against the now docile gales. The birds had resumed their tireless hymns, accompanied by the periodic hoots of an owl, livening up the chorus and bringing about an orchestra to accompany the rest of Nature's songs.

"Well, that should do it..." She huffed feebly, lowering her arms and twirling on her heel, looked out to the horizon behind her, where the sun had just dipped its head down and forged amber and cerise hues to appear alongside layers of baby pinks and peaches outlined with the blues and purples that signified the arrival of nighttime. White dots of flickering stars littered the entirety of the navy blue shades, awaiting its chance to rain down and grasp hold of hope and wishes.

Aisha heaved in a deep breath, earthy spells lingering in her nose. Stretching her hand out, she balled her fist round a stray particle of light, the warm sensation breathing energy into her.

A suspicious rustling sounded.

As Aisha twisted her body back round, she inclined her head to the tree above, eyes widening.

It happened in one fell swoop.

From the vast arrays of midnight blue, sea green and crimson red, she was met with a sharp metal flashing before her eyes with the full intent to murder, eager to shred apart warm flesh with its frostbitten touch. Reflexively, she maneuvered her staff above her head to deflect the sudden onslaught.

 _clang!_

The impact sent dozens of shock waves down her arms and legs, promptly weakening her entire body. The purplenette's arms shook violently as her knees buckled under the overwhelming strength, and the searing noises of the clashing weapons stimulated goosebumps to line her skin.

Through unequivocally crimson veils of rough locks she saw them. Dead, earth-quaking, grim and tragic eyes glaring malignant swords through her. They were carmine in color; deep, saturated but far from pure. Dark crescents lined the lower half of his eye, telling tales of countless nights of unrest. The remainder of this... _thing's_ face was rendered unseen. He towered over her bastardly, the shadows casting a fearsome silhouette over his face that would've warranted whimpers from her.

Aisha felt her arms surrender, unable to tolerate the strain no longer.

A second assault flew across her face at the chance; this time, an upwards strike. She cursed herself for being distracted. The weapon tore at the golden ornament of her magenta bow, slinging the delicate fabric to the ground, knocked away the staff from her hand and sent her teetering backwards in panic. The cold blade barely missed flesh and instead sheared a good length of her lilac locks, before the immaculately forged sword seemingly... vanished? Into thin air? She was thoroughly bewildered at the sight of a vermilion sigil that carved itself instantaneously from the hand of its wielder. It was a sigil she recognized; she had seen it once within a few of the many tomes she indulged herself in, only it lacked content on its origins and its purpose...

Then she slipped.

Aisha felt the rush of cool air coursing through her tresses. She certainly was not apt for physical activity, and surely not close-combat, she must admit. The purplenette was convinced that Rena must have heard the skirmish and is weaving her way towards the ash tree at this very moment. However, a dependence on Rena to protect her simply would not do... Her thoughts flooded her mind as her muscles tensed, readying for the accompaniment of either a painful fall or being shredded by the great sword this person wielded. Unexpectedly, a hand crushed her neck and broke her fall, its grip suffocating and destroying her. The sensation of being lifted off the ground sent alarms sounding off in her mind as she choked and spluttered under the man's grasp, her hand moving to grapple at the other's toned arm. With her toes barely brushing against the long blades of grass beneath, the purplenette gazed down to find flaming scarlet eyes of her pernicious assailant perforating her amethyst eyes. No, this person was no man.

He was a mere boy.

"Who are you?" He spat venomously.


	3. Colors of the Wind

**...Hi. Slow updates are slow, but better late than never! I guess...**

 **sorryimjustlazypleaseforgiveme**

 **But it's fun just jotting down ideas for this instead of typing up a (almost) literal storm. Either way, I hope this is enjoyable to read, however slow the ride may be. Let's see if you can bear to witness Elsword's lunacy.**

 **Anyhow, read on for what you came here for.**

* * *

 **Chapter 3 - Colors of the Wind**

* * *

There were no thoughts that crossed his sombre mind. He had no need for such piffling musings.

A simple village housing countless of secrets, now buried away within the pallid sight of corpses scattered and soiled without a shred of solicitude.

Kicking away the sixth body that stood in his path that night, the crimsonette strolled lazily to the unsuspecting soldiers chatting away idly (as one normally would to alleviate their boredom), who were all unaware of the stealthy slaughter of their peaceful home nor the dragging of his swords behind him that scratched eerily against the rough gravel, leaving in his wake two sinister trails of carmine. His armored boots thundered and struck the ground mercilessly as he trudged along, lips trembling with the itch to meet the blood of a living being.

They were the last ones.

 _And he had no plans of leaving a single person alive._

He came to a slow stop, resting a sword on his shoulder hazardously upon realizing their babbling became hushed murmurs. He gathered that the people who lived in this village were highly sensitive to the El imbalances. Perhaps he should try harder to conceal his blood-lust next time...

Well, whatever.

The boy yawned, unperturbed by the clumsy formation the soldiers scrambled into upon sensing his presence, nor did he bat an eyelash at the amateurish handling of their spears as they prepared to attack the demonic teen practically drenched from head to toe in blood. The tiny ghost of a smile drifted over his lips as his tongue moistened them with one earnest lick. He readied his weapons, then leaped hungrily into the small crowd.

What the redhead wanted was not a fight between experts.

 **He wanted bloodshed.**

A wind of frosty ailing wills greeted him. However, he felt nothing of its caressing touch. Only the familiar taste of a coppery stench and the lovely rings of their suffering. Should they even attempt to attack him, he'll strike back with thrice the fervency. Should they dare to draw forth his blood, he wouldn't think twice about giving them a _slow and torturous death.._. Ah, there it was, the blossoming of a sharp pain on his exposed upper arm.

He could not help, but twist his voice into a chuckle.

The redhead deftly evaded a miscalculated lunge for his chest with the simple shift of his weight before bringing down Conwell to skewer the torso of a young spear-wielding woman, then proceeded to use his other sword to swipe at a secondary attacker carelessly thinking he was unguarded. Mince a bit of those organs there and cut a large incision to expose the brain here. Ah...

 _But it was not enough..._

A monster, they called him, as they cowered away.

The boy could go on forever, spurred by the enticing smell of what gave life to a mere hunk of flesh - and the _wonderful sight._

 _I'm sure it hurts..._

A single arrow whizzed uncontrollably at his direction.

 **How foolish... how weak!**  
He tossed his scabbard away, the sharp edges splintering the shaft and aiming directly for the abdomen of the archer further to the back...

A scream danced in his ear. Yes... Yes, yes! That's what he wanted to hear!

They waste far too much of their life on breathing out insults. A monster, was it? Hah! But of course - what better way to describe him than a monster - a bloody savage? _Monsters are precisely what humans are, no? With just the simple flip of a switch-_ The redhead tore at the limbs of another spear-wielder quivering and practically _pissing_ on the ground at the sight of the unjustified butchering of their comrades _-and a human can murder, just like that._

This is a dance - a ritual of sorts, as he feasts on the sensation of cutting and dicing apart flesh, relishing the tantalizing sting of the occasional wound when he had lost himself in the fray - gotten far too carried away. And then there was the comforting, irony smell. Ah, the smell... That was the best part to taking away the pathetic lives of humans, fragile and effortlessly crippled with the swing of a sharpened piece of metal.

The smile morphed into an unholy, beastly grin - his weapons, simply tools to sustain his thirst for blood. This body, a shell to do his every bidding. He couldn't ask for any thing more.  
Well, there goes the last one... How boring.

Ah, the sun is rising. Pretty good timing; the boy's shoulders were beginning to feel heavy now.

He'd better get moving...

 _Before_ he _takes over this body again._

"You're..." Peering down at the human writhing in pain at his feet, the redhead quirked an eyebrow, however apathetic the look on the rest of his face. The final words of one on the verge of leaving the world was not uncommon, and it was amusing at times to listen to them. Something about _'revenge',_ he recalls- "...Elsword... Sheath Knight of... the scabbard, Conwell...! How could... you..."

Clicking his tongue, the crimsonette kicked the man square in the gut before piercing the unseasoned soldier through his exposed neck with a satisfying display of squirting red.

" _Elsword..._?" With the unpretentious flick of his sword, he removed the stains of maroon blood and let out a low chuckle with a roll of his eyes. "... _Who's that?_ "

* * *

So cold.

There was nothing to see, nothing to feel but the biting cold that numbed the pain and the depths of his soul. The roaring silence, the persistent drumming of wordless screams. This accursed muteness of emptiness would not leave him, even within the swimming insanity inside what was left of his withering psyche.

In this world of nothing but transparent, monochrome colors, he felt like the walking husk of a lost and pointless creation with no semblance of a reason to continue its existence, having been forsaken by even the divine messengers.

He must continue on, he must walk - he knows. Cannot stop, or he'll-

A low grunt escaped his lips as he stumbled over his own foot once again. Gritting his teeth through heavy intervals of inhaling and exhaling, he pushed himself up shakily and continued his aimless climb, all the while obscuring a large portion of his face with his gloved hand in a nonsensical bid to stay focused, eyebrows crinkled stiffly and crimson orbs twitching irritably from the austere smarting at the base of his forehead. He hissed as it throbbed dastardly again from the conscious thought.

He had thought the sickening smell and stickiness of the blood was the cause of this blasted pain, but it seems he was wrong - even after a good dousing in the tiny lake to wash away the remnants of last night's... events, he still reeked of the stench, and the migraine remained.  
Just his luck.

His vision began to grow evermore impaired, the path seemingly warped in an inundation of white hazy blights inching in steadily from the edges of his sight. Impatience getting the better of him, he rubbed at his eyes vehemently but to no avail. The redhead grumbled darkly to himself, languidly dragging himself along with his eyes bequeathed to the ground.

Was he in pain? Obviously, yes. Could he do anything about it? No. Did he give a rat's ass about it? Holy El, duh.

Both his arms now limped at his sides, sweat lined his forehead and where his hand had previously been on his face was now a curtain of scarlet locks.

Clenching at the fabric of his vest, he doubled over while brooding over his own misery - just as he had done for the three nights and two days of timeless insomnia - wrestling against the screaming pain throbbing in his temple and the innumerable spears lancing into his thrumming heart. His breathing accelerated to intolerable levels, with ears ringing, pounding loudly and lungs blaring till it felt as though it would rupture.

Oh, how he wanted the world, the very _deities_ themselves to know the breadth of his anguish, the boundless void lingering inside. Oh, how he prayed for them all to feel this very pain, to know just how much he has been suffering.

Has even the Lady El turned a blind eye to his tragic state?

He shot out a glacial lour, scanning remorsefully for the source of what was causing this torture - searching for something or even better, _someone_ he could force the extent of his ire upon.

That's when he saw it.

A heartwarming, lambent light, shining ever so beautifully against the dullness of everything from the other side of that tall ash tree. Such a spectacular luminescence... And yet, at the same time absolutely nauseating to behold; that radiance, that mocking, sardonic light. It lit a once snuffed out ember inside - a flame that burned a pestilent bruise on his insides. What is that...?

With unfathomable agility and stealth, he pelted and scaled the length of the tree, the ringing in his head now beyond imaginable levels from the moment he set his foot upon the trunk. Resisting the urge to slam his head straight into the bark of the tree, he scowled down at the stoic form of a person breathing out a gentle glow from their dainty body with a crown of amethyst locks lining their head. A girl, perhaps.

...Amethyst?

The crimsonette clawed at his throat and down to his burning, seething chest with his fingertips, the sweat now forming into sedulous beads that rolled from his face. Even he has his limits. His arm shot out and leaned against the chunky frame of the tree, holding on for dear life. With his labored breathes, he continued to watch in an uncanny mixture of astonishment and vexation as the light suddenly dispersed, spreading its loving touch; he couldn't quite describe the foreign sight of it all. But... when a small puff of the light fell onto his outstretched arm, there was a sudden wave of something... strange? No, that wasn't right. Stimulating? Eh. Soothing? Nevertheless, the pain, although it still remained, had been tamed-

 _No... NO!_

The crimsonette impaled his fingers into the tree, biting back the abrupt zeal to draw his swords.

What did she do?

 _No, stop it_. Contradicting thoughts now streaming through his head; he couldn't process them. He never has been able to. The light? An annoyance, fighting against the power within him. The girl, no better. Don't give in to it, don't fall into the audacious seductions of the light. _Keep the darkness you accepted._

But he wanted to know. The bold stench of blood; it was gone, it was pacified. And the colors, the amethyst. Even if it was all so irrelevant now, he wanted to know.

Why was there color in this achromatic cage of his?  
He wanted to know. But no one will tell him; no one ever did.

 _It doesn't matter now._

 ** _Get rid of her..._**

The familiar sensation of dark energy boiling his blood trailed down his arms. He lowered his stance, two shuddering hands wrapping themselves around the hilts of his two barbaric weapons and poised them at his left and right sides. He saw his vision gradient into a menacing black color.

He can't stop it.

The boy gripped his swords with great intensity, a condemning tempest stabbing at his insides - he kept at the back of his mind the urgency to rid himself of that insufferable light paining him, and the desire - a baffling longing to make that very same light his own; to procure it. His eyes widened.

So cold, he thought.

And then he jumped.

* * *

A cursed left his mouth as he pounced backwards, an indignant scowl igniting his face.

 _She fucking burned me...!_

He watched as the girl dropped to her knees in a fit of coughs before scrambling backwards to retrieve her staff (although it looked more like a stick with wings), her mauve-colored hair sticking out like a sore thumb. Taking one distasteful look at the burn on his arm and another at the shivering girl, he felt the thrums of his agony returning. Stupid purple. Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid...

Stupid light. Why on Elrios was that radiance so blinding? So gentle? So... fucking painful to look at?! _Get a bloody grip on yourself._

Opening his palm and taking hold of the manifesting Conwell, the redhead paced slowly towards the frozen girl, crimson eyes gleaming murderously under the remaining of the slowly setting sun. Only one thought thrashed wildly in his clouded mind. One sinful thought.

 _Kill her._

Narrowly avoiding the fireballs conjuring from the girlish hand infused with magic, he bared his teeth and lifted his blade, ready to cut her down. Yes, he just had to bring it down to slice her, nice and cleanly. It was so simple, and he knew he was no rookie. _Don't hesitate. Don't think. Do it.  
Do it._

 _ **Do it**. Cut down this damned-_

In that moment of clashing minds, he sensed something amiss. Curving Conwell round to shield his flank, a stray arrow snapped on its steely surface. _Tch._

The redhead glared at the sudden entry of a tall elf, the rancor pulsing through his aching bones as the blasted woman swiftly let fly a second arrow, aimed for his heart. _Foolish, foolish. As if it will be that easy_. Bounding away, he pressed his lips into a grim line. _He held no interests for a fucking elf..._

And a Night Watcher, at that. He recognized the blade she was withdrawing from her sheath. _Erendil._ Of all the elves he had to encounter, it had to be one of the Night Savers, and judging from the garments, it was one of the higher ranked assassins. This should serve to be quite interesting.  
He caught a third twig in his hand, crushing it with redundant strength.

That's when the boy noticed a strange energy beginning to pour into his body with every movement.

Ah. Life energy, or something like that. He recognized this tingling from memories long buried away in the darkest breadths of his mind. He didn't like it. The raw scorching pain and the cuts on both his arms were slowly dispersing, too, and even Conwell seemed to react briefly to the energy.

Was this...?

Tossing the scabbard at his advancing assailant after collecting himself, the crimsonette poised his great sword, ready to strike as dark eyes glowered dangerously. The elf, too, brought her blade to the ready as she parried the incoming Conwell, barely contained rage casting a shadow across her features-an expression he regarded with great familiarity.

Ah, right. It was that elf from El knows how many years ago. The same elf that he wanted to squeeze the life out of with his own bare hands.

He gave a bitter smirk. Has she truly stooped down so low?

And that was when he fell into a trance once again; all the painful memories, brought to a halt.

 _Kill. Kill. KILL. KILL._

 _ **KILL HER.**_


End file.
